Page 38 of Bent Heavens

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Bruno said, “but were you always so mean?”

“No.” There: honesty. It felt good. “I guess I made myself this way.”

“And are you happy?”

She gazed out of the window. Even their speed of travel couldn’t make Bloughton, a town that moved at a creep, go any faster. Bruno’s question was so simple, yet was one she’d never been asked. There had to be a way to be strong without being horrible. Be the tallest you can, Major Dawkins had urged, and maybe sitting inside this car, where no one could gauge her true height, was the best place to try.

“I don’t want to make things weird,” Bruno said. “I’ll just drive.”

“It’s not weird. It shouldn’t be.”

“I mean, I get why the play would make you sad. I just don’t get why it makes you mad. That’s not a productive emotion. If you were sad about it, then, you know, you could kind of work through it, and then it’d be over. You know how it is after you cry. You feel better.”

“So be a girl, you’re saying. Cry it out.”

“Man, you’re unbelievable.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

She was. Every conversation she’d had with Bruno had been a revelation of disarming candor. Another conversation like it was suddenly all Liv wanted in the world.

“What’s Oliver! about?” she asked. “I mean, I saw my dad’s version, but it was a little confusing.”

“The story itself? It’s idiotic. I only like it for the songs. I’ve been reading the book to see if it’s any better.”

“The book? The Charles Dickens book?” She laughed, and the laugh, coming as it did so abruptly, made her smile. “That’s like grade grubbing in a class where you don’t even get grades.”

“It’s about this old guy Fagin, who lures all these orphans to his house to become his army of pickpockets. Now that’s creepy. Makes a guy like me picking you up on the road pretty harmless, huh?”

“And Oliver’s one of these kids.”

“Right. He gets caught pickpocketing, but it ends up helping him find his parents.”

“And who are you playing?”

“I’m the Artful Dodger. He’s like the old man’s assistant.”

“So you’re a tall, Mexican Artful Dodger. What would Dickens think?”

“Dickens calls Fagin ‘the Jew’ for like half the book. He would’ve lost his shit if he ever saw a Mexican Dodger.”

“Maybe I should audition. Be an understudy in case someone keels over. Really blow Baldwin’s mind.”

“I wouldn’t bother. It’s a crap play for girls. There’s not a single female main character except Nancy.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“She’s a hooker in love with an abusive maniac.”

“What happens to her?”

“He murders her.”

“It’s so nice the school keeps supporting this inspirational drama.”

Bruno laughed. “Well, they always cast a girl as Oliver. Guys can’t hit those high notes.”

Liv’s stomach seesawed as Bruno turned into the vet clinic lot. She hadn’t realized they were already there. She’d been distracted, honestly amused, and only realized the extent of her smile when she felt it retract into the afternoon’s established scowl.